Internal thoughts of this mother…

Sometimes a lot of the time I sit in silence and feel that my daughter doesn’t love me.

Doesn’t really like me much.

You have no idea how tough it is for me to have written that. How I know my husband would say that I am being totally ridiculous and that of course she does love me because I am her mother.

But I don’t think that that matters. That we are not simply loved because we are the parents. I wish it were that easy.

Actions speak louder than words.

I pick her up from either my mum’s place or my in-laws place and she’s not even bothered that I’ve walked through the door. I would be jumping out of my skin to see her and she could really care less. Then someone else will walk through the door and she will be beside herself with excitement.

And a small part of me dies inside.

I joke around about it and pretend I am not phased; I laugh along with them when they say “oh; she doesn’t want to go home – she wants to stay with me!” but inside I’m crushed. I look at her and am literally IMPLORING her with my eyes to show some any affection to me. But I get back nothing except her wriggling to get out of my arms.
And a small of me dies inside.

When we get home she’s fine; we play together and I make her laugh and feed her and bath her and then put her to bed. She’ll cry if I leave her bedroom too early t=so I wait for her to doze off then quietly walk out.
And I am fooled into thinking that she might actually love me.

Then it starts all over again and I feel worthless. Like I’m a terrible mother.

I try to tell myself its ok; that I don’t need her approval and that a mother’s love is selfless and that my job is to be her mother. That my role in this house is as ‘bad cop’ and I can handle that because whist she’ll not like me now, one day she’ll see my worth. It might be for another two decades or so but eventually she’ll see that everything I did; that I do now is for her.
I just have to wait.

And in the meantime (another) small part of me dies.